Chapter 3: What She Had Already Set in Motion
I didn't sleep that night.
I lay in the dark listening to Bella breathe through the baby monitor I had dug out of storage and placed back on her nightstand for the first time in three years.
Every creak of the house made my eyes open.
My phone lit up at 6:47 the next morning.
It was a number I didn't recognize.
"Is this the mother of Bella Reyes?"
I sat up.
"Yes.
Who is this?"
"My name is Carol Whitman.
I'm a family services caseworker with the state of New Mexico.
We've received a report regarding the welfare of your daughter.
I'd like to schedule a home visit at your earliest convenience."
The room went very still.
"What kind of report?" I asked.
"I'm not able to share the specific details over the phone.
But I do need to come by within the next seventy-two hours.
Is tomorrow morning workable?"
I said yes.
I wrote down her name and number.
I set the phone down on the mattress and stared at the ceiling.
Penelope hadn't laughed because she thought she'd lost.
She'd laughed because she'd already made her next move.
Sandra came over before I left for work.
I told her what had happened.
She sat down at my kitchen table and pressed both hands flat against the surface.
"She called child services on Bella," Sandra said.
It wasn't a question.
"That's what I think."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to be ready."
I called my attorney, Diane, from the car.
Diane had handled my divorce two years earlier and knew enough of my history with Penelope to not be surprised.
"She filed a welfare report," Diane said.
"Classic pressure tactic.
It doesn't mean anything on its own, but if she's done it once, she'll do it again.
You need documentation.
Everything from this point forward."
"What kind of documentation?"
"Bella's school records.
Her pediatrician's notes.
Any communication from Penelope or Genevieve in writing.
The police report from the day they called the officers to your house.
All of it."
"The police came to my house because my mother called them on my five-year-old over a toy."
A pause.
"That report exists?"
"It does."
"Then get a copy today.
That is your first piece of evidence."
I pulled into the parking garage at work and sat in the car for another minute.
Penelope thought she was starting a war.
She didn't understand that I had already been fighting one for years.
I had just been too generous to use what I knew.
That was about to change.
The caseworker, Carol, arrived the next morning at nine.
She was a small woman in her fifties with reading glasses on a chain and a clipboard she held against her chest like a shield.
She walked through the house quietly, asked to see Bella's bedroom, looked at the pantry, checked the bathroom.
Bella sat at the kitchen table eating toast, watching Carol with calm, curious eyes.
"Can I ask you something?" Carol said to her gently.
Bella looked at me.
I nodded.
"Sure," Bella said.
"Do you feel safe at home?"
Bella didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
"Is there anyone who makes you feel scared?"
Bella thought about it for a moment.
Then she said, very clearly: "My grandma told the police to take me away because I didn't give Chloe my doll."
Carol wrote something on her clipboard.
She didn't look up right away.
When she finally did, she looked at me.
"I'll need a few minutes to complete my notes."
She sat at the table.
I made coffee.
Bella finished her toast and went to her room to get dressed for school.
Before Carol left, she paused at the front door.
"Ms.
Reyes, I want you to know — I've been doing this job for nineteen years.
I can tell the difference between a home that needs intervention and a report that was filed for other reasons."
I held the door open.
"And this one?"
She looked at me steadily.
"I'll file my assessment by end of week."
She walked to her car.
I watched her go.
Then my phone buzzed.
A text from Genevieve.
*How does it feel knowing the state is now watching you?
You should have just let Mom handle Bella her way.*
I screenshotted it.
Sent it to Diane.
May you like
Diane replied in four minutes: *Perfect.
Keep every single one.*
